which stood General T.'s Staff. I had already forgotten what I had
seen, and my attention was fixed upon that small group of men standing
motionless near the top of the ridge. German shells kept bursting over
them from time to time. We were now about 100 yards off, so I left
Wattrelot and my spare horse hidden behind a shattered hovel and went
alone towards the rick.
But just as I was coming up to it I heard a curious hissing noise
which lasted about the twentieth part of a second, and, above my
head--how high I could not quite tell--vrran!... vrran!--two shells
exploded with a tremendous noise. I ducked my head instinctively and
tried to make myself as small as possible on my horse. A thought
passed through my mind like a flash: "Here we are! Why on earth did I
come up here? My campaign will have been a short one!" And then this
other thought followed: "But I'm not hit! That's all their shells can
do! I shan't trouble to duck in future."
And yet I was disagreeably impressed: a soldier who had been holding a
horse just before about 30 yards from me ran down the slope, whilst
the horse was struck dead and lay in a pool of blood, his body torn
open.
But I was now close to the officers composing the Staff of the T.
Brigade. They came towards me, supposing, probably, that I was
bringing some information or an order. One of them was known to me, an
infantry captain who had been in garrison at R. with me. We shook
hands, and I explained the object of this unusual visit. He replied:
"Your regiment? You will find it to the left of the Army Corps. It's
the regiment that ensures our _liaison_ with the ---- Corps."
"Well, Captain, it seems our troops are advancing. Things are going
well!"
He shrugged his shoulders sharply. His eyes were hard and sombre as he
gazed fixedly at the horizon in the direction of the enemy, and then
said in an exasperated tone:
"Certainly, they are advancing. See those lines of skirmishers working
along there to the right of the village. And those others further off,
there where you see those puffs of yellow smoke. But that won't
prevent us from beginning our retreating movement at noon. There are
express orders. We must move together with the whole army. We shall
sleep to-night 20 kilometres from here ... and not in the right
direction!"
We looked at one another in silence. I didn't like to ask any further
questions, nor to express my disappointment and the angry feeling that
was becoming stronger in me. The sight of General T. calmed me at
once. It seemed to tell me what my duty was, and to impose silent
obedience and firm faith in our chiefs.
Standing alone, 100 yards in advance of his officers, whom he had told
to remain concealed behind the enormous stack, the General was
observing the struggle. He stood perfectly still, with his back
slightly bent and his hands behind him. He had allowed his beard to
grow, and it formed a white patch on his slightly tanned face. In
front of him, at some little distance, two shells had just burst,
falling short. The General had not stirred. He looked like a statue of
sadness and of duty. I had thought of going and introducing myself;
but I now felt that I was too insignificant a being to intrude myself
upon a chief who was watching the advance of his brave soldiers, as a
father watches over his children.
I turned and went away, quietly and slowly, with a feeling of
oppression.
So I made my way back again, skirting the firing line behind the
ridge, often obliged to pull up to allow troops to pass to reinforce
the line. Now and then it seemed that the fighting had ceased at the
spot I happened to be in, but I soon found myself again in the thick
of the artillery and rifle fire. On all the roads I crossed there was
a continual stream of wounded men limping along and stretcher-bearers
carrying mutilated bodies. The heat had become tropical. It was nearly
twelve o'clock. My head began to swim. My shako seemed gradually to
get tighter and to press on my temples till they were ready to burst.
I thought I should never find my regiment--never....
I came to a small village, and decided to stop and get some food for
ourselves and for my horses, as they showed signs of distress. There,
too, the streets were full of infantry, but, to my astonishment, none
of them belonged to any of the regiments of my Corps. So I supposed I
had passed its left wing without knowing it. Bad luck! I rode up the
steep alleys, looking for some inn where I could put up, but all the
inns were filled with hot, footsore soldiers, who seemed thankful for
a moment's rest. They were sitting about wherever there was any shade
to be found. With their coats unbuttoned, their neckties undone and
shirts open, they were trying to recover their vigour by greedily
devouring hunks of bread they had in their wallets, spread with the
contents of their preserved meat tins.
At the door of the vicarage, near the pretty little church which could
be seen from the surrounding country, I saw an old priest who was
distributing bottles of white wine to an eager crowd of troopers. I
heard him say in a gentle voice:
"Here, my lads, take what there is. If the Prussians come, I don't
want them to find a drop left."
"_Merci, ... merci, Monsieur le Curé_."
All at once there was a frightful explosion quite close to us, which
made the whole church-square quiver. A German "coal-box" had fallen on
to the roof of the church, making an enormous hole in it, out of which
came a thick cloud of horrible yellow smoke. A shower of wreckage
fell all around us and made a curious noise. The windows of all the
houses came clattering down in shivers. In a twinkling the little
square in front of the vicarage was empty. A few men who were wounded
fled moaning. The rest slung their rifles and went off quickly in a
line close under the shelter of the houses. I was left alone face to
face with the white-haired priest who still held a bottle of golden
wine in his hand. We looked at each other greatly distressed.
"_Tenez, Monsieur l'Officier_," he said suddenly; "take some more of
this. I am going to break all the remaining bottles, so that they
shall not drink any of it.... Ah! the savages! Ah! the wretches!... My
church!... My poor church!..."
And he went across his little garden quickly, without listening to my
thanks. I handed the bottle to Wattrelot, who stuffed it into his
wallet with a smile of satisfaction.
But a second "coal-box" soon followed the first. It was certainly not
the place to stay in, so I decided to be off and postpone my luncheon
until I could find a rather more sheltered dining-room. As I left the
village I saw one of our batteries moving briskly away. It was the one
that had been in action close to the village, and had probably been
the target of the German gunners. It went rapidly down the slope. The
drivers brandished their whips and brought them down upon the haunches
of their jaded animals. They had to make haste, for the position had
become untenable. The German guns were concentrating their fire on the
hapless village and the neighbouring ridge. The formidable shells
burst in threes. The ground shook. It was evident that very soon
nothing would be left there but ruins.
I resumed my wanderings. I saw then that what the captain had told me
was true. The retreating movement was beginning to be obvious. Whilst
the firing grew more intense along the whole line small parties of
infantry marched across the fields in an opposite direction to the one
they had taken two hours previously.
So we were beating a retreat. However, I had seen it with my own eyes;
not only had we held our ground along the whole line, but at several
points our soldiers were making headway. And then suddenly, and
without any apparent reason, we had to withdraw. It was enough to make
one mad. We had to retreat over the soil of our France and give it up,
little by little, to the hordes which followed on our heels.... I had
slackened rein, and was allowing my horse to go as he liked over the
country strewn with troops. He seemed to understand what was
happening, and with his head lowered, as though he did it reluctantly,
he slowly followed the direction the immense army was taking. I was
seized with a deep feeling of hopelessness. I doubted everything; our
men, of whose bravery and tenacity I had just seen proof; and our
leaders, whose courage I knew. My head seemed to be on fire.
But I heard a ringing voice behind me, calling me by my name. I
turned, and my sadness gave way to joy as I recognised two light-blue
tunics with red collars. I had found the uniform of my regiment! and
my hope revived. I felt I was no longer alone, and that we might yet
accomplish great things.
In front of a score of our Chasseurs rode two good friends of mine,
Lieutenant B. and Lieutenant of Reserve de C. What a pleasure it was
to shake their hands, and to see their bronzed faces and dusty
garments.
We now went on together, chatting merrily. C. knew the village where
the regiment was to be billeted. We went straight for it at a trot. It
was there that, at nightfall, I was going to find my chiefs again, my
comrades and my men; and I should at last take my part in the
fighting. I could not know what the days to follow had in store for
me, but I did know that none could be so cruel for me as the day when
I went to the Front. I was now in the bosom of my military family, and
I looked forward to taking my share of danger at the head of the brave
Chasseurs I knew so well. Doubtless I should now know where we were
going; why we had to advance, and why to retire.
It seems that moral suffering is less keen when it can be shared with
others. I shall never suffer again what I suffered that day.
II. THE FIRST CHARGE
_September 4._
Six o'clock in the evening.
The atmosphere was heavy and stifling. The regiment had been formed
into two columns, to the right and the left of the high-road from
Vauchamps to Montmirail. The men, tired out, their faces black with
dust, had hardly dismounted when they threw themselves on the ground
and slept in a field of cut corn. The officers chatted together in
groups to keep themselves awake. Nights are short when you are on
campaign. The bivouac was pitched at midnight and was to be struck at
three o'clock in the morning.
And since six o'clock the battle had been raging, for the enemy had
engaged our rearguard almost immediately. This had happened each day
of that unforgettable retreat, begun at the Sambre and pushed beyond
the Marne. Each day we had had to fight. Each day the enemy was
repulsed. Each day we were obliged to retire.
Brother-soldiers!--you who came through those painful hours--shall you
ever forget them? Shall you ever forget the anguish that wrung your
hearts when, as the sun was sinking, you, who had seen so many of your
comrades fall, had to give up a further portion of our sweet France;
to deliver up some of our lovely hamlets, some of our fields, our
orchards, our gardens, some of our vineyards, to the barbarians?...
You were ordered to do so. We have learnt, since then, how important
such sacrifices were. But, at the time, we did not know ... and doubt
came into our minds. We passed through cruel days, and nothing will
ever efface the impression of physical and moral prostration that
overcame us then.
The regiment was sleeping--tired out.
Alone, calm, phlegmatic, the Colonel kept watch, standing in the
middle of the road. With his pipe between his teeth, beneath his ruddy
drooping moustache, his cap pulled over his eyes, his arms crossed on
his light-blue tunic, he seemed to be the ever-watchful shepherd of
that immense flock. At such moments the chief must be able to seem
unconscious of the self-abandonment, the disorder and the exhaustion
of his men. Human powers have their limits. They had been expended for
days without stint. Every moment of cessation from actual fighting had
to be a moment of repose. The important thing is that the chief should
keep watch. Brave little Chasseurs! sleep in peace; your Colonel is
watching over you.
I looked at the men of my troop, on the ground in front of their
horses. How could I recognise the smart, brilliantly accoutred
horsemen, whose uniforms used to make such a gay note in the
old-fashioned streets of the little garrison town?
Under the battered shakoes with their shapeless peaks, the tanned and
emaciated faces looked like masks of wax. Youthful faces had been
invaded by beards which made them look like those of men of thirty or
more. The dust of roads and fields, raised by horses, waggons, and
limbers, had settled on them, showing up their wrinkles and getting
into eyes, noses, and moustaches.
Their clothes, patched as chance allowed during a halt under some
hedge, were enamels of many-coloured pieces. A few more days of such
unremitting war, and we should have vied with the glorious
tatterdemalions of the armies of Italy and of the Sambre et Meuse, as
Raffet paints them.
With their noses in the air, their mouths open, their eyes half shut,
my Chasseurs lay stretched out among the legs of their horses and
slept heavily. Poor horses! Poor, pretty creatures, so delicate, so
fiery, in their glossy summer coats! They had followed their masters'
fortunes. How many of them had already fallen under the Prussian
bullets; how many had been left dying of exhaustion or starvation
after our terrible rides! They seemed to sleep, absorbed in some
miserable dream of nothing but burdens to carry, blows to bear, and
wounds to suffer. They were hanging their heads, but had not even the
strength to crop the green blades growing here and there among the
stalks of corn.
I felt uneasy, wondering whether they would still be equal to an
effort for the fight that was always likely and always desired.
Suddenly, from the ridge some 800 yards behind us, coming down like a
bolt, I saw a horse, at full gallop. Its rider was gesticulating
wildly. Strange to say, though not a word had been said, as though
awakened by an electric current, every man had got up and had fixed
his astonished eyes on the newcomer. He was an artillery
non-commissioned officer; his face was crimson, his hair unkempt, his
cap had come off his head and was dangling behind by the chin-strap.
With a violent jerk he pulled up his foaming horse for a second:
"Where is the Colonel--the Colonel?" With one voice the whole squadron
replied: "There, on the road. What's the matter?"
He had already set off again at full speed, had reached the Colonel,
and was bending down towards him. Even at that distance we could hear
some of his words: "Uhlans ... near the woods, ... our guns, our
teams...."
Then it was like a miracle. Without any word of command, without any
sign, in a moment the whole regiment was on horseback, sword in hand.
The Colonel alone had remained standing. With the greatest calmness he
asked the sergeant in an undertone for some information; and the man
answered him with emphatic gestures. All eyes were fixed upon the
group. Everybody waited breathlessly for the order which was going to
be given and repeated by five hundred voices, by five hundred men
drunk with joy.
We believed the glorious hour was at last come, which we had been
awaiting with so much impatience since the opening of the campaign.
The charge! That indescribable thing which is the _raison d'être_ of
the trooper, that sublime act which pierces, rends, and crushes by a
furious onslaught--wild gallop, with uplifted sword, yelling mouth,
and frenzied eyes. The charge! The charge of our great ancestors, of
those demi-gods, Murat, Lasalle, Curély, Kellermann and so many
others! The charge we had been asking for, with all our hearts, ever
since the opening of the campaign, and which had always been denied
us!
Ah! that famous German cavalry, that set up its doctrine of pushing
the attack to the death, what hatred and what contempt had we
conceived for them! We had one desire, and one only--to measure
ourselves with them. And every time we had seen their squadrons the
result had been either that they had turned and retired in good order
behind their lines of infantry, or they had drawn us into some
ambuscade under the pitiless fire of their deadly machine-guns.
Were we at last to meet them and measure our swords with their lances?
* * * * *
The regiment moved off in one body behind the Colonel, who, riding a
big chestnut horse and as calm as at manoeuvres, led us at a gentle
trot skirting the little clumps of trees that dotted the plain. A
troop had gone forward in a halo of glittering dust to act as an
advance guard.
Our horses seemed to have understood what we were about. Or was it we
who had passed on to them the fighting spirit that fired us? I felt
behind me the thrill that ran through my men. The first rank could not
manage to keep the correct distance, the yard and a half, which ought
to separate it from its leader. Even the corporal in the centre
allowed his horse to graze the haunches of mine, "Tourne-Toujours," my
gallant charger, the fiery thoroughbred which had so often maddened me
at the riding schools of the regiment and at manoeuvres, by his
savageness and the shaking he gave me. "Tourne-Toujours" gave evident
signs of excitement. By his pawing the ground every now and then he,
an officer's horse, seemed to resent the close proximity of mere troop
horses. And certainly, under ordinary circumstances, I should have
fallen foul of the rider imprudent enough to ride close to his heels.
But on that occasion I merely laughed in my sleeve, knowing that in a
few minutes, when the charge had begun, "Tourne-Toujours" would soon
have made them all keep their proper distance, and something more.
I took a pleasure in looking at the faces of the men of the third
squadron, whose troops were riding in column abreast of us. Their
chins were raised, their eyes wide open, intent, under the shade of
their cap-peaks, upon the slightest irregularities of the ground
ahead. Their hands grasped their sword-hilts tightly. Major B.,
leaning well forward, and riding between the two squadrons, was
practising some furious cutting-strokes. What a grand fight it was
going to be! How we should rejoice to see the curved sabres of our
comrades rising against the clear sky to slash down upon the leather
_schapskas_ of our foe! We waited for the word that was to let loose
the pent-up energy of all those tense muscles.
A trooper came back from the advance guard at full speed, and brought
up his horse with the spur beside the Colonel. He reported in short
sentences, which we could not hear. The Colonel turned towards our
Captain, who was behind him, leaning forward over his horse, all
attention, with his sword lowered, receiving the orders given in an
undertone. We only heard the last sentence: "I shall support you with
the rest of the regiment."
"Thank Heaven!" thought I; "it is we; it is our dear squadron that is
to have the honour of attacking first." Every man pulled himself
together. Every man felt conscious of all the glory in store for us.
Every man prepared to perform exploits which, we felt sure, would
astonish the rest of the regiment, of the army, and of France.
Forward! Forward! Forward!
The troops had already ridden past the Colonel at an easy gallop, and
we suddenly found ourselves strangely isolated in that vast tract of
country which, a few minutes before, we had passed over in a body.
There was a succession of yellow or green fields, with here and there
some leafy thicket. On our left, surrounded by orchards, rose the grey
and massive buildings of the farm of Bel-Air. In front of us, some few
hundred yards off, there was a dark line of wood, the lower part of
which was hidden from us by a slight rise in the ground.
Hardly had the first troop reached the top of the brow when some shots
were fired at us. We at once understood. Again we were to be deprived
of the pleasure of measuring ourselves with their Uhlans at close
quarters. We saw distinctly on the edge of the wood, kneeling and
ready to fire, some fifty sharp-shooters in grey uniform and round
caps without peaks. We recognised them easily.
It was one of their cyclist detachments that had slipped into the wood
and had been quietly waiting for us with rifles levelled. As usual,
their cavalry had retired under cover of their line.
What did it matter to us? The wood was not thick enough to prevent
our horses from getting through, and the temptation to let the fellows
have a taste of our steel was too strong. I rejoiced at the thought of
seeing their heavy boots scuttle away through the trees. I resolved to
have a thrust at the skirts of their tunics, to help them on a bit.
The Captain understood the general feeling. "Form up!" he cried.
In a twinkling a moving wall had been formed, to the music of merrily
clinking stirrups and scabbards and jangling metal; and the gallop
towards the wood began.
Just at that moment its skirts were outlined by a circle of fire, and
a violent fusillade rang out. Bullets whistled in all directions, and
behind me I heard the heavy sound of men and horses falling on the
hard ground. In my troop a horse without a rider broke away and came
galloping towards me. What did it matter? Forward! Forward!
We were about 200 yards off. We spurred our horses and got into our
stride.
Suddenly a horrible fear took the place of the martial joy that had
urged us to the fight. We were all struck by the same discouragement,
the same feeling of impotence, the same conviction of the uselessness
of our sacrifice. We had just realised that the edge of the wood was
surrounded with wire, and that it was behind this impassable barrier
that the Prussians were calmly firing at us as at a target. What was
to be done? How could we get at them and avenge our fellows who had
fallen? For one second a feeling of horror and impotent rage passed,
like a deep wave, over the squadron. The bullets whistled past us.
But the Captain adopted the wisest course. He saw that retreat was
necessary. He had, behind him, more than a hundred human lives, and
felt they must be saved for better and more useful sacrifices. With a
voice that rose above the noise of the firing, he shouted: "Follow me,
in open order!" And he spurred in an oblique direction towards the
nearest depression in the ground. But the movement was badly carried
out. The men, disheartened, instead of spreading out like a flight of
sparrows, rushed off in so compact a body that some more horses were
knocked over by the Prussian bullets. How long those few seconds
seemed to us! I wondered by what sort of miracle it was that we did
not lose more men. But what an uncanny tune the innumerable bullets
made in our ears as they pursued us like angry bees!
At last we got under cover. Following a gully, the squadron reached a
little wood, behind which it was able to re-form. The sweating horses
snorted loudly. The men, sullen-mouthed and dejected, fell in without
a word and dressed the line.
In the fading light the roll was called by a non-commissioned officer
in a subdued voice, whilst I looked on distressfully at the sad
results of the useless charge. And yet our losses were not
great--three troopers only, slightly wounded, who, far from grumbling
at their mishap, seemed proud of the blood that stained their tunics
and their hands. The men whose horses had fallen had already come up
jogging heavily over the field of lucerne that stretched out before
us. One man alone was absent; Paquin, a good little fellow, energetic
and well disciplined, whose good humour I found especially attractive
both under fire and in camp. But he would come in, no doubt. Cahard,
his bed-fellow, told me that his horse had stumbled and thrown him. He
thought he had even seen him get up again directly the charge had
passed.
"_Mon Lieutenant, ... mon Lieutenant_, your horse is wounded."